


The Mystery Solved

by Styfas



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, M/M, MIght as well be scriptfic, Ratings: I Hate Them - I rated this M and I think it's correct?, Sophomoric Behaviour, Sophomoric and Double-Entendre Dialogue Exchanges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 17:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30143292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styfas/pseuds/Styfas
Summary: Summary:  An awkward discussion at a lower deck table on Erebus leads Georgie Chambers' tablemates to finally solving the mystery of just who his lover is…Terror Bingo:  Free Space
Relationships: George William Chambers/Harry D. S. Goodsir
Kudos: 3
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	The Mystery Solved

**Author's Note:**

> The usual thanks to [Drac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac), who introduced me to The Terror in the first place, and who usually are the first to read my fics - except this will be the third one in a row that they haven't seen first, ha ha ha. 
> 
> The usual disclaimers: I don't know or own any of the "real life" people from the Expedition (RIP to all 💔), nor do I own their "characters" as realized on AMC The Terror; they belong to AMC writers, producers, actors, and anyone else who ever had anything to do with the TV programme.
> 
> This is Fiction - and that's a Fact.
> 
> No money being made from this, folks!

Georgie Chambers, Charles Best, John Weekes, and John Morfin are enjoying a bit of a winding down at the lower deck tables on Erebus at the end of a long day. After a session of playing cards, they now enjoy cups of grog and talk about the day’s events, exchanging stories of the goings on at Erebus and the rumours of Terror; some true, and others embellished for increased entertainment factor. 

For Georgie, it’s not about cards, grog; and stories; it’s more about passing the time before he visits Harry for their nightly sexual tryst. He sits next to Charles on the side of the table facing the corridors of the various officers’ cabins, hoping for an early glimpse of his lover. Usually Georgie will see Harry at least once during the course of any given workday, whether due to a visit to the sick bay with a feigned malady that always fools Dr. Stanley – but which Georgie and Harry both know has been manufactured for the sole purpose of their having a friendly visit together – or during a quick passing-by on the deck during mess hour (“ _Good afternoon, Mr. Goodsir,”_ and “ _Good afternoon, Chambers”_ ).

Today hasn’t been one of those fortunate days. Georgie hasn’t seen Harry since late last night; near to twenty hours since they’ve seen each other, he calculates. That’s a long time, indeed. 

Georgie finally gets his wish; here comes Harry, walking quickly from his cabin and heading – where, exactly? The sick bay? The galley? Or could he be coming to the table to talk to them? To _him_?

Harry looks proper and well-fit as usual, even after a long workday; his cravat tied just-so, his hair well-groomed with curls tamed, and his clothing still tidy. There’s a bit of a blush to the man’s cheeks this evening. Harry must be thinking about _him_ , and about what they’ll do behind that cabin door about an hour from now. There’s an up-and-down bounce to the man’s gait that likely signals his anticipation of the sexual delights to come. 

When Harry is within five feet of the table, Weekes, Best, and Morfin greet him in order: “Good evening, Mr. Goodsir,” “Mr. Goodsir,” “Sir.” 

“Weekes, Best, Morfin,” Harry says with perfunctory nods. 

“Hello, Harry!” Georgie pipes up.

Harry stops still, his eyebrows lifting. A few seconds later, he responds with, “Good evening, _Chambers_.” 

“Where are you going, Harry?”

“ _Chambers_ , I - I’m on my way to the galley to see Mr. Wall.” He clears his throat. "Some of the… the medicine bottles in the sick bay have cork stoppers… and they need to be… I - I need to grease the stoppers. Some of the bottles have proven… to be… to be… di-difficult to open, and a bit of grease on the corks may help. So… if.. if you’ll all excuse me.” Harry escapes the table.

Georgie cranes his neck to watch as Harry resumes his walk along the deck and to the galley.

Charles snickers. “Oh, no! No!”

“Shhh!” Weekes says. “You too, Morfin,” he whispers.

Georgie snaps his head back to face the others. “What?”

“Shhh. Wait a moment, lads,” Weekes says, looking towards the galley. “Just wait.” 

Georgie doesn’t like the look on Weekes’ face; it’s like the man knows something that Georgie doesn’t. _“What?”_

Meanwhile, Charles’ face is turning all manner of red as he struggles to keep from snickering. Morfin is biting his lower lip as his body shakes with silent laughter. 

Weekes holds up his hand. “Shhh… Hold on, lads… Wait, wait… All right, good. All is well,” he announces, lowering his hand. “Mr. Goodsir’s gone into the sick bay.”

Morfin lets loose with a loud guffaw.

Georgie searches the three faces. _“What?”_

Charles resumes his snickering. 

“Georgie, why did you call him Harry?” Weekes asks. “Nobody calls him that.”

“But I heard somebody say once that Mr. Goodsir wishes people would call him Harry. So I thought I would. What of it?”

“Oh, but if looks could kill,” Morfin says after recovering from his laughter. “Did you see the way he looked at you when you called him Harry? _We_ all did.” He does his best imitation of Mr. Goodsir, raising his brow into an accordion of wrinkles and softening his voice to a hesitant lilt. “Good evening… _Chambers_.”

“Well, lads, I think the mystery is finally solved,” Weekes says.

“What mystery?” Georgie asks.

“Obviously, Mr. Goodsir is your beloved man.” 

Morfin slaps the table repeatedly as he laughs. “Grease for the medicine bottle stoppers, my arse.”

“Yeah, but if the hole’s too tight for the stopper, you’re gonna need grease,” Charles says matter-of-factly before dissolving into laughter.

“So Georgie," Morfin asks, "Which one of you is the stopper, and which is the bottle?” 

“Stop it!” Georgie says.

“Is that what you say to him when he gets behind you?” Charles asks.

“Now, lads, you never know, it might be the other way around,” Weekes says. “Maybe Mr. Goodsir’s the receiver.”

Morfin sniffs. “Either way, I’d rather not imagine it.” 

“I don’t appreciate any of this,” Georgie says.

“Mr. Goodsir?” Morfin says, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re seeing Mr. Can’t-Get-Through-A-Sentence-Without-Tripping-Over-At-Least-One-Word Goodsir. Makes me wonder what he must be like in bed.”

“I’m sure he’s wonderful,” Weekes says, addressing Georgie. “Especially judging from that hickey we saw on your neck a week ago. Unless he left that by mistake?”

“No mistake,” Georgie says in proud retort. “Harry knows exactly what he’s doing. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Ah, but you just made it our business by telling us,” Weekes says with a simple smile.

Charles jabs at Georgie’s arm. “I suppose you two play Doctor and Patient games? With plenty of physical examinations?” He lifts and lowers his eyebrows several times. “How’s his ‘bedside manner?’”

“You’re not funny in the least,” Georgie shoots back. “And you do know that _technically_ , he’s not a doctor?”

Morfin groans, rolling his gaze to the ceiling. “Oh, Christ, not you, too?” 

“Why do you all have to be so immature about this? Can’t you all just be happy for me? And for him? For _us_?”

“But we are,” Weekes says gently. “Aren’t we, lads?”

“And contrary to what you may all think, it isn’t just about having congress. We talk. He understands me. You all don’t know him like I do.”

“Not that I’d want to,” Morfin mutters.

“I know he can seem awkward and nervous sometimes – but when we’re together, he’s calm. He’s so kind, and gentle – and he’s funny, too. I like being with him. And… I love him.”

“Well, that’s different then,” Charles says, his voice softening.

“Have you told him you love him?” Weekes asks.

“I have. And he loves me, too. In fact, he told me first.”

“Interesting,” Weekes says with a nod.

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste, is there?” Morfin says. 

“Aww, Georgie,” Weekes says. “You’re smitten. I could see it in your eyes, the way you looked at him when he was coming towards the table, and the way you turned to watch him after he left-”

“To get the grease for the stopper,” Charles interrupts, following up with a laugh.

Weekes lifts his cup of grog, ignoring Charles’ remark. “I propose a toast. To Love. To Georgie Chambers and Mr. Goodsir. And to their happiness.”

Georgie lifts his cup. “Thank you, Mr. Weekes.” He and Weekes clink their cups together and drink.

Morfin raises his cup and speaks with mock declamation. “To the stopper and to the bottle!”

Best follows suit. “And to the grease!” The pair clink cups and drink.

Georgie lowers his head with a sigh. 

“Whoa now, Mr. Goodsir’s leaving the sick bay,” Weekes alerts the group. “Shh, here he comes, here he comes.” He picks up the deck of cards and proceeds to shuffle. “Settle down, now. Act natural.” He deals the cards around the table.

Georgie turns and watches as Mr. Goodsir approaches. The man detours by going to the opposite side of the deck to avoid their table and alters his course again to go to his cabin, all without making eye contact. But even from a distance, Georgie can see a bulge in Harry’s trousers; the bulge being that of a bottle in his pocket which likely holds plenty of grease for tonight’s activities.

“Poor Mr. Goodsir,” Charles says. “Looks like he knows that we know.”

Morfin chuckles. “Couldn’t even look at us.”

“Can’t say I blame the man,” Weekes says. “Be easy on Mr. Goodsir in the next few days, lads. No need to make things more difficult for him or Georgie. We can all do that, hmm? We’ll do it for _Georgie_.”

Morfin shrugs, and Charles nods.

“Thank you,“ Georgie says.

The group finish their grog and start up another card game. 

When the first yawns come from Weekes and Best, they both say their Good Nights, wish Georgie well for his night’s tryst, and leave the table to prepare for sleep.

Leaving Morfin, who Just. Won’t. Leave.

Georgie drops hints as best he can by sighing repeatedly, shifting his weight, and standing up and stretching.

“Oh, I see,” Morfin says. “You’re ready for… well, whatever it is you’re ready for. I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Good night,” Georgie says.

Morfin stands up and yawns. “Ah, to be young again, and able to stay up so late. And I do mean stay ‘up.’”

Georgie shakes his head. “I told you it’s not always about-”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, ‘night, Georgie. Be sure to tell Dr. Harry Goodstopper that I said Hello.”

“I will not.”

Morfin claps a hand on Georgie’s shoulder and offers what appears to be a genuine smile. Finally. “You have a good time tonight.”

“Thank you.” When Morfin is out of sight, Georgie quietly slinks to Harry’s cabin and knocks on the door. “Mr. Goodsir,” he whispers.

The door slides open. “Chambers.”

“Are you cross with me? May I come in?”

Harry smiles. “Yes. And yes.” He slides the door closed once Georgie is inside the cabin. 

“They know about us,” Georgie says. “I’m sorry, Harry. I know we were going to try to keep this a secret.” 

“It was going to happen eventually, Chambers,” Harry says. “Your choosing to address me by first name didn’t help – but I certainly didn’t do myself any favours by staying at your table and fabricating that story about grease and cork stoppers, and bottles.” He succumbs to a chuckle, shaking his head. “I became painfully aware of the innuendo even as I spoke. Judging from the laughter I heard after I went into the sick bay, that innuendo was not lost on your tablemates.”

“That was funny, Harry. _Sir._ Well, not at the time. But now, it’s funny. You should have seen the look on your face. Something like how you’re looking at me right now…” 

“You did put me in an awkward position, Chambers, and I may need to punish you for your indiscretion.” His lips crinkle into a smile, and his eyes gleam with mischief. “I was thinking a good spanking might be in order.”

Georgie’s cheeks go aflame, with a similar pleasure seizing his privates. Harry’s never proposed such a thing before now.

“Trousers down, _Chambers_ ,” Harry says in a hot whisper. “Now. That’s an _order_.”

Georgie’s fingers fly straight to his trouser buttons to release his braces. “Yes, _Sir!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I thank you for reading. ❤
> 
> Ha ha, what was going to be a one-and-done thing concerning Georgie's crush on Goodsir has now become a five-part thing! I may need to make a mini-series out of this or something.
> 
> (ETA: And this one just *might* be the end of it all, because I now realize that, weirdly, it comes full circle-ish from the first fic of the five).


End file.
